The Vanishing Man eBook

“It is the lower half of a trunk which the police
dredged out of a rather deep pond on the skirts of
the forest at Loughton—­Staple’s Pond,
it is called. The bones found were the pelvis—­that
is, the two hipbones—­and six vertebrae,
or joints of the backbone. Having discovered
these, the police dammed the stream and pumped the
pond dry, but no other bones were found; which is
rather odd, as there should have been a pair of ribs
belonging to the upper vertebra—­the twelfth
dorsal vertebra. It suggests some curious questions
as to the method of dismemberment; but I mustn’t
go into unpleasant details. The point is that
the cavity of the right hip-joint showed a patch of
eburnation corresponding to that on the head of the
right thigh-bone that was found at St. Mary Cray.
So there can be very little doubt that these bones
are all part of the same body.”

“I see,” grunted Mr. Bellingham; and he
added, after a moment’s thought: “Now,
the question is, Are these bones the remains of my
brother John? What do you say, Doctor Thorndyke?”

“I say that the question cannot be answered
on the facts at present known to us. It can only
be said that they may be, and that some of the circumstances
suggest that they are. But we can only wait for
further discoveries. At any moment the police
may light upon some portion of the skeleton which
will settle the question definitely one way or the
other.”

“I suppose,” said Mr. Bellingham, “I
can’t be of any service to you in the matter
of identification?”

“Indeed you can,” said Thorndyke, “and
I was going to ask you to assist me. What I want
you to do is this: Write down a full description
of your brother, including every detail known to you,
together with an account of every illness or injury
from which you know him to have suffered; and also
the names and, if possible, the addresses of any doctors,
surgeons, or dentists who may have attended him at
any time. The dentists are particularly important,
as their information would be invaluable if the skull
belonging to these bones should be discovered.”

Mr. Bellingham shuddered.

“It’s a shocking idea,” he said;
“but, of course, you are quite right. You
must have the facts if you are to form an opinion.
I will write out what you want and send it to you
without delay. And now, for God’s sake,
let us throw off this nightmare, for a little while,
at least! What is there, Ruth, among Doctor Barnard’s
music that you can manage?”

Barnard’s collection in general inclined to
the severely classical, but we disinterred from the
heap a few lighter works of an old-fashioned kind,
including a volume of Mendelssohn’s Lieder
ohne Worte, and with one of these Miss Bellingham
made trial of her skill, playing it with excellent
taste and quite adequate execution. That, at least,
was her father’s verdict; for, as to me, I found
it the perfection of happiness merely to sit and look
at her—­a state of mind that would have been
in no wise disturbed even by Silvery Waves
or The Maiden’s Prayer.